


Hello From the Other Side

by Robin4



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Heavy Angst, Rumbelle Secret Santa, Spoilers through all of 5A
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 06:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5445848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin4/pseuds/Robin4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Belle and Rumplestiltskin broke one another, and one they did not, culminating when Rumple tells Belle the truth after "Swan Song".</p><p>Spanning seasons 3-5, ending after 5x11, "Swan Song".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello From the Other Side

**Author's Note:**

  * For [destieldearie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/destieldearie/gifts).



> Part of Rumbelle Secret Santa 2015, with the prompt " 'Hello', by Adelle".
> 
> There is _lots_ of angst here. I cried my brains out while writing this, so ye be warned.

**_1\. Time_ **

**_“They say that time's supposed to heal ya, but I ain't done much healing”_ **

_“There’s just too much broken trust,”_ Belle had said, and Rumplestiltskin felt like those words were a dagger to his heart. 

She told him that a part of her would always love him—a _part_ , like it was some disease she could not be rid of!—but that he wasn’t enough.  He was never enough, and Rumplestiltskin knew that Milah, that Cora, had been right as he watched Belle walk out of his life.  He was _nothing_.  His heart had been purified, he had turned himself into a hero because that was what Belle wanted, and in the end, he was still left standing alone.  Leaning heavily against the well, Rumplestiltskin finally let his tears fall once he lost sight of Belle.  She was gone.  Gone forever.

He understood.  He really did.  Rumplestiltskin had hurt her so badly, and even though the darkness had been taking over, he knew the choices had been his own.  Or at least he thought they had.  The darker he grew, the harder it became to tell the voice of the Dark One from his own thoughts, and Rumplestiltskin knew that he had _wanted_ to tell her the truth so many times before he’d broken their marriage.  But his lips had never moved, no matter how forcefully he told them to.  Still, the choices had been his, no matter what the darkness had whispered—screamed—about needing to keep the truth from her. 

Despite her lingering feelings for him, Belle had clearly been finished with him the day she banished him. 

“I have been such a fool,” he whispered to the forest, looking up at the canopy of green leaves with tear filled eyes.  “All I did was drag her down with me.”

He sucked in a shuddering breath, resolutely trying to forget the joyful look on Belle’s face when she told him that it was never too late.  That had been less than twenty-four hours earlier; he’d faced down a _bear_ for her—not that he would ever, _ever_ regret saving Belle!—and then he’d pulled Excalibur from the stone.  Rumplestiltskin had become a hero, had done things he had never once believed he could do, and his heart had sung with hope.

Fool’s hope.

“I’m so sorry, Belle.”  The words barely came out around the lump in his throat.  He was not meant for happiness, that was for sure, but if he could accept that, perhaps he could make himself stronger.

That was what heroes did, wasn’t it?  They went on, no matter how much it hurt.  Time, Belle had said.  She needed time—which he knew would not be on his side, not ever; Belle would find happiness, but it wouldn’t be with him.  But maybe time could help make his wounds easier to bear.  Losing Belle would create a hole in his heart that would never heal, but Rumplestiltskin knew he had done this to himself.  He had once been foolish enough to think that he could be the Dark One and yet still find happiness.

The joke was on him that he could not be happy even now that he’d been scrubbed clean of the darkness.  Perhaps being the Dark One had never been the problem.  The problem was simply…Rumplestiltskin.  _I am not meant for happiness.  I should have realized that centuries ago.  I have pushed everyone I ever loved away, even when I did not mean to._  The truth was too easy to see, now.

He was meant to be alone.

Belle, however, Belle would be all right.  He would make sure of it.  And whoever she found, whatever worthy person she found to love her, Rumplestiltskin would not get in the way.  Even if it was that Will, who she claimed not to love—he would step aside, and make sure they were happy.  _Being a hero sometimes means sacrificing those you love to protect them._   He could do that.  It would burn, and time would never heal his wounds, but he could make sure that time would be nothing but kind to Belle.  That could be his gift to her.  He never could love her as much as she deserved, much though he wanted to try, but he could make sure that she found someone who could.

Squaring his shoulders, Rumplestiltskin picked up Excalibur and headed away from the well.  Night had fallen; had he really grieved for so long?  No matter.  He had found new resolve, and he would not waver.

This damn pure heart of his had to be good for something, after all.

 

 

* * *

 

**_2\. Distance_ **

**_“There's such a difference between us, and a million miles”_ **

They had congratulated her when she walked back into town, her feet aching and the dagger clenched desperately in her right hand.  No one seemed to notice the tears running down her face; either that or they didn’t care _why_ she cried.  They just told Belle that she would be all right, that she was better off without that monster.  He’d tricked her, they said, and she deserved better.

She managed to endure the congratulations and condolences for less than an hour before she had to get away.  Watching Emma and Regina toast to the fact that Rumplestiltskin hadn’t gotten his happy ending broke something inside her, and Belle rushed blindly out of Granny’s, the waterworks of tears starting once more.  But she’d left her keys to the library in the shop when she’d rushed out to find Rumple, so she slammed the door open, listening to the bell jingle and then stopping cold.  Rumple was _gone_.  He would never say something snarky from behind the counter, never give her the smile that was only for her, and never even visit his son’s grave again. 

She had taken that from him, locked him out just as surely as Zelena had ever locked him in that cage.  Belle had looked at his crying face and ignored his pain because of her own, and she had forced him out of his home _forever_ because he’d broken her heart.

“That’s not justice,” she whispered, finally looking down at the dagger still clutched in her hand.  She’d been impulsive and she’d been _cruel_ ; Belle had no intention of taking back her lying husband, but wanting to break off their marriage didn’t mean she had a right to exile him.  She had watched him collapse when his bad leg gave out, and she had shoved him away without even his cane.  Did he even have money on him?  Now that Belle was thinking straight, she didn’t know.

_“Belle, I’m afraid.”_

Perhaps those had been the most honest words he’d ever spoken to her.  She had no way of knowing, did she?  _I thought I knew him_.  Now, Belle could only stare at the dagger and replay their conversation—no, her angry monologue—at the town line in her mind.  She’d just wanted him to value her more than he valued _power_ , wanted the truth from the man she loved.  Was that so much to ask?  Was she so wrong to expect that?

No, she wasn’t wrong.  She’d turned a blind eye because she thought he was grieving for Baelfire when he crept out at night, not that he was plotting with the Snow Queen or forcing Killian to suck fairies into the Sorcerer’s Hat all so that he could _have more power_.  Belle knew she deserved better than that; she wasn’t some weak-willed woman who was only with a man because she felt like the world revolved around him.  She deserved the truth, but she hadn’t really asked for it, had she?  She had lost herself trying to help Rumplestiltskin, but it was unfair to blame him for all of that.  There was plenty of fault to lie at Rumplestiltskin’s feet, anyway.  But her choices had been her own.

She would face up to them, then.  Belle took a deep breath.

“Rumplestiltskin, I summon thee.”

Nothing happened.  Blinking, she raised the dagger higher.

“Dark One, _I summon thee._   Appear before me.  Now!”

His face had been such a mess of pain when he’d whispered the words, as if he already knew what was going to happen, that there was no talking her out of it.  _“Belle, no, please.  I won’t be able to come back.”_

“Rumplestiltskin!”

Still nothing.  But it should have worked, shouldn’t it?  It was only magic keeping him out beyond the town line, and the dagger should have been able to summon him if he was just outside town.  _There’s no magic out there.  He probably doesn’t even know I’m calling for him._ Realization crashed over her like a tidal wave, and Belle bolted for the counter, grabbing the car keys and, then—quickly—his cane.  She was furious with him, yes.  But even at his worst, Rumplestiltskin didn’t deserve this.  If his True Love was power, if that was all he wanted and the Snow Queen’s mirror had been right, well, that was his loss.  But Belle would not compound cruelty with cruelty.

She paid no attention to the speed limit as she drove to the town line.  It hadn’t been long, and there was no way he could have gone far.  At the very least, she could pass him the suitcases that were still in the trunk, could send the car across for him and let him have something of a better life until she could figure out a way to help him come home.  Not wanting to be with him didn’t mean Belle didn’t want him to have a decent life—even if he had to be stopped for the good of everyone in Storybrooke, she didn’t want him to suffer.  Even if he’d broken her heart, he didn’t deserve that.

Angry though she was, Belle knew she still loved him. 

Even if he had _never_ loved her.

But when she reached the town line, there was no one there.  Off to the right, on the edge of the road, something moved amongst the trees.  However, when Belle jumped out of the car and rushed that way, she realized it was only a tie flapping limply in the wind.  _His_ tie.  He’d left it behind, but why?  To mark where he’d been, in hopes he might come back?  Belle once would have been sure of that, been sure that Rumple’s clever mind was already looking for a solution, but now she wasn’t certain that she’d ever known him at all.

Now she never would.

 _That_ realization knocked her straight to her knees.  He was gone, and she had exiled him.  He had lied to her so many times, had broken her into tiny pieces, but Belle hadn’t wanted to do this to him. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered between her sobs.  “Oh, Rumple, I’m sorry.”

Hours passed before she could pick herself up and drive home, her motions wooden and her heart empty.  Belle had been so _angry_ when she realized how her husband had been using her, but now she was just broken.  And she no longer knew if it was the lies that had done her in or her own actions.

She had no way to know where Rumplestiltskin was, only that he was miles out of her reach and everything was over.

 

 

* * *

 

**_3\. Regret_ **

**_“I must have called a thousand times to tell you I'm sorry for everything that I've done”_ **

He’d left his cell phone charging in the shop when he’d headed to the clock tower, not wanting to ignore a call from Belle when he could just use the much more legitimate excuse of having forgotten his phone in the back room.  Rumplestiltskin was unfortunately prone to doing so, and he thought it the best way to get away with…well, murder.  Now, outside of Storybrooke where the voice of the Dark One was much more quiet—merely a whisper instead of the demanding voice he was so familiar with—he could recognize the depth of what he had done.  Oh, he wasn’t particularly sorry for having tried to kill Hook, given how the pirate would have tried to do the same to him, given half the chance, but he suddenly _knew_ what he’d done to Belle.

To his wife.

To the woman he _loved_.

He’d betrayed her, and the worst part was that Rumplestiltskin had hurt Belle, _betrayed_ Belle, all the while trying to convince himself that he could make it all up to her, just so long as he could free himself first.  _I should have just concentrated on making her happy,_ he thought, staring blankly at Ursula’s phone.  _Instead, I was so convinced that I had to be free of the dagger to be happy that I never saw the happiness staring me in the face._

Hesitantly, Rumplestiltskin reached for the phone, putting his hand on top of the receiver before biting his lip hard enough to make his eyes water.  Or, at least he told himself that it was from the pain. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.  “I know I hurt you and I have no right to talk to you.  I don’t have any right to even _speak_ to you after what I did.  I wanted to make you happy.  I—I truly did.  I just…I just made a mess of everything, like I always do.  And I don’t know why I couldn’t see that.  I just, oh, God, Belle, _I don’t know._ ”

He had to figure out what he was going to say before he called her, didn’t he?  Rumplestiltskin didn’t think for a moment that she would pick up, that she would talk to him at all, but what if she did?  Then he had to know.  He had to give Belle the truth she deserved, even if he didn’t know how to explain it himself.

His heart burned in his chest, and Rumplestiltskin knew that wasn’t just from the heartache.  Leaving Storybrooke four weeks ago had left him weak and left his heart blackening even more quickly than before, and he knew he didn’t have much time.  _Call her and beg her to take you back,_ the darkness whispered seductively.  _Tell her you’re dying, that without magic you won’t last longer, and she’ll let you come home._ The idea was so tempting.  He knew that Belle’s soft heart, no matter how angry she was with him, wouldn’t like the idea of him dying, and—

“No.”  He growled the word out loud, yanking his hand away from the phone. 

Even if he died out here, he wasn’t going to use Belle again.  _Never._ Rubbing shaking hands over his face, Rumplestiltskin slumped over and just stared at the floor through tear-filled eyes.  He deserved what had happened to him, and that was the truth.  Even out here, he was too weak to fight back the darkness enough to love her properly.  He was still a coward, still a worthless husband and a failed father.  For centuries he had convinced himself that he had become _more_ than that wretched and broken spinner, but the truth was far different, wasn’t it?  Rumplestiltskin was still _nothing_ , and now he didn’t even have the power to project something else.  

 _You’re right.  You’re nothing but the empty husk of the Dark One, so close to melting away and leaving_ me _to take your place,_ Nimue’s gloating voice said from inside him.  _When you die,_ I _will survive._

“Shut up.”  Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard.  “Just shut up.”

 _I’m inside you,_ dearie.  _What did you expect? There’s not much magic in this world, but there’s enough for me to survive when you die.  And then I’ll return to Storybrooke and_ I’ll _have your little wife—_

“No!”

He could hear Nimue’s laughter even when he wrapped his arms around himself, tears rolling down his face.  He had to fight for Belle, even if she hated him.  She deserved better than him, anyway, deserved a life without lies and with a man who could love her properly.  He never should have tried to love her, after all, not with the darkness he _knew_ corrupted him so.  But Rumplestiltskin had been arrogant enough to think that he could beat it, to think that _he_ could win, that he could have darkness and love both.

He’d been such a fool.

But he could still save her.  He could still beat the darkness, even if it cost him his life.  Nimue wanted him to return so that he could open a portal to the Underworld and raise _all_ the Dark Ones, to snuff out the light and bring about an age of eternal darkness. But Rumplestiltskin knew that he could do something better than that.  The Author and his quill had the power to change the story; all he had to do was find him—or manipulate the so-called heroes into doing so for him—and Rumplestiltskin could have the darkness written _out_.  He could change the story, make it so that Nimue never became the first Dark One, and then _no one_ would ever have to suffer through this again. 

And then every Dark One would be free, even Nimue, who claimed she didn’t want to be.  But Rumplestiltskin knew better.  He could feel her longing when she thought of Merlin, could feel her wishing for the woman she once had been.  _I can give you that,_ he promised.  _I can save us all from this darkness.  We all meant so well in the beginning.  I can make it so that we never made those choices, so that we were never tainted by darkness._   Pain made his chest tight.  _I’ll never know Belle, but maybe then she’ll actually be happy._

Dragging himself to his feet, Rumplestiltskin stumbled over to Ursula’s computer.  He had a translation to send.  He’d seen Belle’s post on that message board, and he’d meant to call her, just to apologize and then give her what she was looking for.  After all, he’d filled the hat—the least he could do was help Belle set his victims free.

But even if he was too much of a coward to pick up the phone, he could help her with this.

 

* * *

 

**_4\. Loss_ **

**_“Dreaming about who we used to be, when we were younger and free”_ **

Rumplestiltskin was dead, and there was no going back.  Belle put her best face on when they got back to the Enchanted Forest, but she was dying inside.  _None of them want to see you fall apart,_ she told herself firmly, helping organize things, find supplies, and get people moving towards safety.  _If anyone cared, they wouldn’t have left you crying on the ground._ Realizing that people she had thought of as friends didn’t care about Rumplestiltskin’s death hurt, but Belle had always known how to wear a brave face. 

So she got through the first hour like that, and then the second.  Baelfire seemed to snap out of his own grief—he’d lost Emma and his son, in addition to watching his father die—after that, and Rumple’s son approached her quietly as Snow and Regina argued off to the right. 

“Hey.”  He clearly didn’t quite know what to do with himself in a world he’d left so long before; Belle could see Bae trying to stuff his hands in pockets he didn’t have as he shifted uneasily.  But the lost expression on his face reminded her _so_ much of Rumple that she almost burst into tears then and there.

“Hey.”

“You okay?” Bae asked softly, and Belle swallowed hard, steeling herself.

But he was the first one to bother to ask her that simple question, even though they’d _all_ seen her True Love kill himself—and his monster of a father—just a few hours earlier.  No one had bothered to comment, save Bae.  Bae had told Regina that she’d better not fail after Rumplestiltskin’s sacrifice, a feeling Belle _whole_ heartedly agreed with, but no one had even looked at her.  She was used to being ignored by these people, but…

Belle couldn’t be strong right now.

She tried to hold them back, but the tears just started falling, and before she knew it, Rumplestiltskin’s son had wrapped her tightly in his arms.

“I know,” he whispered.  “I’m not okay, either.  I can’t believe he’s gone, and I...”

“Yeah.”  The sobs shook her strongly enough that Belle could barely understand the word, but Bae seemed to get the point.

“We’ll look out for one another, okay?  I think he’d have liked that.”

“He would have.”  _Oh, Rumple._ Belle tried to swallow her sobs, but Bae was sobbing, too, and she just wanted to break in two.  She missed him so much already, and so few hours had passed.  How was she supposed to live the rest of her life like this?

That night, lying on an uncomfortable pallet in the woods, Belle dreamt of the past.  Her grieving mind took her back to when things were simple, to when she’d been merely a maid (who spent too much time reading and barely any cleaning, particularly towards the end) and Rumplestiltskin had been hesitant but charming.

 _Rumple was tucked into his tower doing who-knew-what, so Belle felt comfortable heading over to the table in the great hall and removing the rose he’d given her._ He’d given her a rose.  Like a suitor!  _He’d looked so hesitant and so bashful that she’d wanted to kiss him then and there; Belle had known she was falling for him for some time, but when he’d handed her the rose, she realized that_ he _liked her, too._

_Belle had never been in love, and the feeling was a heady one.  Her ‘courtship’ with  Gaston had mainly consisted of her feigning interest in his hunting exploits and pretending she didn’t notice when he drooled down some other woman’s bosom.  But this…this was different.  She wanted to spend every moment around him, was certain that her feelings were written plainly on her face, but he somehow seemed to miss the message every time.  She shot him appreciative glances, made sure her dresses put her best assets on display, and threw hints at him, but Rumplestiltskin remained skittish and tentative.  She knew she had no experience in wooing a man, but could he really be so obtuse?_

_Yet he’d given her the rose, wearing an adorable little smile as he bowed to her, and that fact gave Belle hope.  So, she pulled the rose from its vase, inhaling its sweet smell.  Her face split into a smile all on its own, and she let her imagination wander.  Someday, Rumple would realize what was growing between them.  He already treated her more as a companion than a servant, but she could just_ imagine _that becoming more.  They could see the world together, they could read together, and they could dance.  Rumplestiltskin was so light on his feet that he had to be an_ amazing _dancer—_

 _“What_ are _you doing, dearie?” he asked, and in Belle’s dreams, she always answered more boldly than stuttering on about needing to water the rose._

_“Thinking about dancing with you,” she always wished she’d said, and he sputtered a little incoherently._

_Jumping off the table, Belle replaced the rose and extended a hand to him.  She gave him her best smile._

_“Will you dance with me, Rumplestiltskin?”_

_Golden eyes went wide.  “Why…why would you want to dance with…me?”_

_“Because I don’t ever want to dance with anyone else again.”_

Belle awoke with a start, almost crying out as the dream ended.  She could still feel his hands on hers, could feel the tentative way his hand touched her back, the way he gripped her hand so carefully, like Rumple was afraid he’d scare her away.  It felt so _real_ , felt like a memory that she’d actually had, and Belle wanted to cling to it.  She wanted to go back to sleep, wanted to go back and be lost in that world where Rumple wasn’t dead, and she wasn’t alone.

They’d never been able to dance.  They’d talked about it, just the night before he died, lying in bed together and talking about their future.  _“There’s only one of those paths I’m interested in,”_ Rumple had told her.  _“The one where you and I are together.”_   They’d both been so hopeful, so certain they’d have forever together—

And now he was gone.

Tears started streaming down Belle’s face again, and she curled up as tightly as she could on her pallet.  No one else—aside from Baelfire—seemed to mourn Rumplestiltskin at all.  To them, he was just the Dark One.  He was a villain who had gotten his just desserts.  It didn’t matter that he’d died to beat Pan, a villain far worse than Rumple had _ever_ been.  No one cared that he’d sacrificed his _life_ to give Regina a chance to turn the curse back and bring them home.  Everyone crowded around Regina, comforting her because she’d lost Henry, but Henry was alive.  He was safe and with Emma, and Belle felt _horrible_ for thinking it, but how did that compare to the fact that Rumple had _died_?

Closing her eyes desperately, Belle tried to will herself back into her dream.  She knew that it wouldn’t last, knew that spending longer in a happy-but-unreal-moment would only make it hurt worse in the end, but she didn’t care.  She just wanted a few more minutes with the man she loved. 

 _Just a little while longer,_ she thought brokenly.  _Why couldn’t we have a little while longer?_

 

 

* * *

 

**_5\. Broken_ **

**_But it don't matter; it clearly doesn't tear you apart anymore”_ **

He was home, now, and Rumplestiltskin was free to follow his heart.  No one could control him, not again, and now he could finally do the right thing.  He could go to Belle and tell the truth, let her know how she’d _always_ been his strength. How could someone as beautiful and as brave as Belle ever be his greatest weakness?  He’d wanted to tell her that at the town line, but she hadn’t let him.  She hadn’t wanted to listen to a word he’d said.  Would she listen, now, or would she use the dagger to stop him again?  Would his very ability to speak be taken away with a magical compulsion that burned through him like black fire?

Shivering, Rumplestiltskin tried to push the memory aside.  He didn’t blame Belle.  He _didn’t_.  She’d only done what she felt she had to do; Belle was a hero, and she’d saved someone.  It didn’t matter if she’d saved the vile pirate captain.  Belle didn’t think of people like that.  She was _better_ than he was.  He knew that, and Rumplestiltskin could never blame her.  He’d been out of control, with the darkness driving him, but he knew that now.  Knowledge was power.  If he knew what was happening, he could work to prevent it.  _I’ll tell her everything,_ he promised himself, teleporting into the shadows across the street from the shop.  Most of the town was probably ready to lynch him on sight, so he had to be careful, but the streets were empty.

There she was.

His heart thudded in his chest.  Just _seeing_ her face made him short of breath.  Rumplestiltskin had missed her _so_ much.  Surely she missed him as well.  Belle had sobbed as she exiled him, and that had to mean she still loved him.  Only six weeks had passed.  He could make this up to her.  He could make everything right.

All he had to do was talk to her.  Explain.  Throw himself at her mercy and beg her for her help.  He needed to write the darkness out of the story, to dial things back so that he _could_ do right by Belle.  She’d been right when she had said that there was only the beast when she exiled him; Rumplestiltskin knew that, now.  He hadn’t been able to see it, but now—oh, she was so beautiful that Rumplestiltskin could barely think.  He watched her through the front window of the shop, taking an involuntary step forward.  He was drawn to her like a magnet, like the force of their love pulled him to her, irrevocably attracting them to one another.

Belle had a rose in her hand.  _His_ rose.  The one he’d left for her, so quietly.  He’d hoped it might be a message, that Belle might remember the first time he’d given her a rose, back when things had been beautiful and perfect.  _How did I go so wrong?  I didn’t mean for things to happen like this.  I didn’t mean to hurt her.  How could I ever do that to her?_ But he could make it right, and Rumplestiltskin steeled himself to go to her, to throw his heart at her feet and pray it would be enough.

But he hadn’t made it a step before another figure stepped into his line of sight.  This was a man, and one whom Rumplestiltskin barely knew.  He knew the thief’s name, knew his story—he trafficked in such things, after all—but he had not expected to see Will Scarlet with Belle.  For a moment, he was glad that Belle had found a friend, that she wasn’t alone…and then they kissed.

Belle _kissed_ Will Scarlet.

And then she pulled back, smiling at the other man like she had once smiled at him.  Staggering, Rumplestiltskin shrank back into the shadows, blinking rapidly.  He couldn’t believe his eyes.  Belle— _Belle_ —was kissing another man.  But it had only been six weeks!  How could…how could she move on so quickly?  Had she ever really loved him, or had she just loved the idea of fixing the Dark One, of forcing the monster and finding the weak man inside?  Once she’d seen that weak man, she had no desire for him, and—

No, he would not think of Belle like that.  _Her_ love had been true; Rumplestiltskin had been the one to ruin everything.  _He_ was to blame, and he knew that.  He deserved this, didn’t he?  They had been so in love, they had had an entire future before them, and he had thrown that away because he’d wanted power.  Because he had wanted his freedom, and he’d been too much of a fool to ask her for help.  _My walls were up; you tore them down,_ he had said.  Those words had been so very true.  Belle had taught him to love when he had been so certain that he was utterly unworthy.  She had become everything to him, and he had let her down.  She deserved better, but Rumplestiltskin deserved this heartbreak.

Belle’s ghostly voice echoed inside his mind: _I have spent my life finding you._

No more, apparently.  She had given up on him, that much was plain.  Belle had moved on, and Rumplestiltskin was left standing in the shadows like yesterday’s trash.  He had broken her, he knew, but Belle was so strong that she had bounced back and learned to love again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered towards his shop, tears filling his eyes.  “But I hope you’re happy.”

* * *

 

“Where’d the rose come from?” Will asked, stepping back.

Belle cocked her head, studying him.  Was he just being coy?  Will did enjoy his little jokes, after all.  “I’m sure _you_ know.”

“Am I supposed to?” her friend-maybe-boyfriend asked.  “Is there some reference I’m missin’?  I can be fairly daft, y’know.”

“Didn’t… _you_ leave it here?”

“Me?”  Will looked genuinely confused.  “No.  Not that I wouldn’t mind takin’ credit for the romantic gesture, but I didn’t know you liked roses.  I’m not particularly fond of them, t’be honest.”

“Oh.”

Stepping back, Belle turned away from Will to give herself some time to think, looking down at the rose still held in her left hand.  If not Will, who had left it here?  She hardly mattered to the heroes of the town; Emma telling the fairies to thank _Regina_ had made that plain when Belle’s hard work had finally freed the fairies from the hat.  Not like any of them would have left her a rose, but they were the only people she really talked to in town aside from Will and her father.

“D’you have another suitor I don’t know about, Belle?” Will interrupted her thoughts wryly.

“Not that I know of,” she whispered, still staring at the rose.

It was red, of course.  Red like the rose Rumplestiltskin had given her, so many years ago, when he’d bowed so bashfully.  _“If you’ll have it,”_ he had said, so very uncertainly.  Had she not already lost her heart to him, it would have flown from her grasp then and there.  He’d been trying so hard, putting aside the mask of the monster for _her_ , and Belle still remembered the heady feeling of being so deeply in love.  Every moment of every day had felt lighter than before; she had felt like anything was possible, so long as she never lost him.  He was difficult, true, closed off and terribly frightened for a man who had so much power.  But Belle had been able to see past that, been able to peel back the layers and see the man beneath the beast.

_Until I told him that there was only a beast, and I banished him._

The thought burned in her mind, just as it had for the past six weeks.  Belle couldn’t begin to quantify her regrets, couldn’t begin to describe—even to herself—how sorry she was.  She’d been wrong, she knew, and there was no taking her actions back.  Rumple hadn’t even had his cell phone on him; she had found it in the shop the day after banishing him, when she’d started desperately calling, only to hear it ringing from the back room.  He’d left it plugged into the charger like he so often did, and Belle had no way to reach him, no way to even know if he was alive.

She hoped he was.  She hoped he was happy and safe, that he’d found some measure of peace outside of Storybrooke.  Rumplestiltskin was the smartest man she’d ever met, and she knew that if anyone could overcome the impossible odds he faced, it would be him.  She _had_ to think that he’d be all right.  Otherwise, she’d die inside even more than she already had, wondering and worrying what had become of her husband.  That was why Belle had tried to go on, falling into an awkward romance that was at least new and different.  Will was nothing like Rumplestiltskin: he was goofy and unguarded, tough but not brilliant.  He made her laugh when Belle had thought she’d never laugh again, and she’d begun to hope that might mean something.

_But I don’t love Will._

She knew that in her heart and always had.  In honesty, Belle didn’t really think Will loved her, either, or ever would.  They were both suffering from heartbreak, both on the rebound, each using the other to forget someone they had loved more than life itself.  They’d never spoken of that, but they both knew.  Theirs was not an epic love story.  It was not even a love story at all.

And she was not happy, but Belle didn’t think she deserved to be.  Not after what she’d done.

 

 

* * *

 

**_6\. Together_ **

**_“Hello, it's me; I was wondering if after all these years you'd like to meet.”_ **

She hadn’t made it many miles outside of Storybrooke before Henry called and told her what had happened.

“I just thought you should know,” the boy finished.  “Grandpa Gold said that he sent you off to see the world because it’s what you always wanted to do, and he didn’t think he should drag you down with him anymore.”

Belle could barely find her voice.  “He…he _said_ that?”

“Yeah.”  Henry didn’t say more, but he didn’t _have_ to.  There were a hundred unspoken questions, but Belle could hear them all.  _Why did you leave?  What happened?  Isn’t this supposed to be your happy ending?  Why give up now when you have everything you ever wanted?_

Belle wasn’t sure why she was so hesitant, to be honest.  She didn’t _know_ the answers to those questions, which was why she’d agreed to leave when Rumple was in such a hurry to get her to leave town.  _He wanted me to be safe,_ she realized, maneuvering the car to the shoulder and stopping.  _He lied to me again…but this time it wasn’t to hide something, or at least not really.  He lied so that I’d leave—and I let him lie._   She had known that something was wrong, just from the way he’d looked so shaken and so needy, but Belle had willfully ignored that.  She hadn’t known what to do with that sudden hug he’d given her, but now she realized that he’d intended for that to be goodbye.  _Forever._

It was the thought of losing him again that made her turn the car around.  Yes, she’d been hesitant to give him her heart again, because he’d broken it so badly the last time she’d trusted him.  Yes, she’d said she needed time and space, time to find herself if nothing else.  But…but she’d had time.  Belle knew that if she was honest with herself.  The truth was that she’d been afraid.  She’d been afraid of falling so thoroughly, afraid of getting that which she’d always asked for—Rumplestiltskin, heart and soul.  _He pushed me away to save me.  He let me go,_ again.  _Just like he always does._

How many times had Rumple let her go?  Belle had lost count.  He’d never stopped her from leaving, even at his worst.  Even when she had come to the well—which she realized now she _shouldn’t_ have done, because his hope had been shining _so_ clearly in his eyes when she’d approached, and Belle had had to break his heart in order to protect hers.  _He deserves better than that,_ she realized.  She’d been the selfish one that time, hadn’t she?  Rumplestiltskin had been honest with her, and he’d only asked her to come to the well if she wanted to give their love another go.  She could have met him _anywhere_ —why had she chosen there?

Belle supposed that her husband wasn’t the only one who could be a coward, sometimes.  Somehow, however, that was a comforting thought.  They were both human and both flawed, but she’d said that in her wedding vows, hadn’t she?  _Sometimes the best book has the dustiest cover._   How had they drifted so far away from that?  After being enslaved by Zelena, he had been in pain and locked her out, and she’d _let_ him.  She’d thought that if she just made him happy, she could be everything for him, but that had been wrong.  And he’d thought that if he buried his flaws and his weaknesses, everything would be all right.  _He’s doing it again, but this time it’s more for my benefit than his._

Belle stepped on the gas.  She knew where she wanted to be, and it wasn’t outside Storybrooke.  She’d _always_ known; she’d just been running from hope.  From love.

She just hoped she wasn’t too late.

Henry met her at the town line, a dreamcatcher in hand.  Belle hadn’t _needed_ her memories from Camelot to decide to go back, but knowing that she’d made the same choice there, that she’d _had_ the time and space she needed made everything so much clearer.  _I see hope,_ Grumpy had told her about the enchanted rose, and he’d been right. 

Belle would choose to hope.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin walked back home from the shop with a heavy heart, his feet dragging brokenly.  He was powerful, so very powerful, and the ability to defend himself against Emma’s attempted attack had been so very sweet.  _Was it worth it?_ He didn’t know.  He’d thought it would be, had thought that avoiding the misery he knew waited for him in death was worth taking that darkness on again, but he’d never foreseen this consequence.  Yet again, someone was trying to use Belle against him—and he’d _let_ them.  He’d set this situation up, plain and simple, and his motivations didn’t really matter now, did they?  He’d never expected Belle to come back, yet he’d welcomed her with all of his heart and none of his head.  Yet again, he’d started lying to her right from the start, and the worst part about it all was that he hadn’t even meant to.  He had never once imagined she’d come back.

Yet he’d left her sleeping in _their_ bedroom when Emma texted.  He’d gotten up to make her breakfast, and instead he’d found himself sneaking around behind her back.  Again.  _I want to do right by her,_ he thought sadly, _but I know I’m going to screw this up._   He always did, didn’t he?  Belle had given him so many undeserved second chances, and the _one_ time he might have earned her trust, he’d already broken it before he even dreamt she might return to him.  Yet telling her that he hadn’t expected her to come back sounded like a flimsy excuse, even inside his own mind. 

 _I want to do better by you,_ he had told her _. I want to love you in a way I never could before. With honesty and courage. Let me be the man you deserve. The man I swore on my son's grave that I would be._

That hadn’t been good enough, though, had it?  Or at least he hadn’t thought so.  But then _Belle came back,_ and he hadn’t known what to do.  He’d simply lost himself in her touch, had _drowned_ in the fact that Belle still loved him.  He’d never felt so empty as he had walking away from the well, knowing that the woman he loved, the woman he’d become a damned hero for, didn’t think he was good enough.  _Yet now I am no hero._

She was going to hate that.

She was going to hate _him_.

But if there was one thing Rumplestiltskin was good at, it was learning from his mistakes.  So, he knew what he had to do before he even walked in the house to find Belle rushing for the front door.  She skidded to a stop a few feet away from him, clad in a robe and not much else, her blue eyes wide and worried.

“I…I thought you’d left,” she whispered, and for a moment, Rumplestiltskin could see all of his insecurities reflected in her eyes.

 _There’s just too much broken trust,_ she’d told him, and he knew that he couldn’t do that again.  Not this time.

“I’m sorry.”  He managed a lopsided smile.  “Emma texted, and wanted me to meet her in the shop.  She’s…planning to go to the Underworld to rescue Hook, and she wanted my help.”

Belle’s eyes went wide.  “Because they need your blood.”

“Yes.”  Stopping there would have been so easy, wouldn’t it?  But he wouldn’t be a coward.  Rumplestiltskin _had_ learned courage, finally, had learned that he didn’t need magic to be brave.  Having power helped, certainly, particularly in a town where a Savior-turned-Dark One and back again would probably have been happy to threaten Belle until he complied, even if he _hadn’t_ been the Dark One.  Emma’s moral compass would need some recovery time, Rumplestiltskin knew, and she might never be the same again.  Not that he could blame her.

“Are you going to help?”

“I’ve agreed to, yes.”  He couldn’t bear to look at the pride in her eyes, because he _wasn’t_ doing something selfless or noble.  Yet a part of him still had to wonder: _Just for once, couldn’t they_ ask _me for help instead of demanding it?_ He hadn’t even tried not to tell Emma the truth, despite what he’d said about wanting to keep it a secret.  He’d expected she might ask eventually; he simply hadn’t expected it to come so soon.  _Stop delaying,_ Rumplestiltskin told himself firmly.  “Sweetheart…there’s something else we need to talk about.”

This might be the last chance he ever had to call her that; Rumplestiltskin would not have been surprised if he found himself alone again within the next few minutes.  But whatever happened, he’d face it bravely.  Belle had taught him to do that.

“What’s wrong?”  She could obviously see the sick worry in his face; Rumplestiltskin couldn’t hide that, no matter how hard he tried.  “You’re going with them, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but it’s…it’s not that.  Let’s sit down, all right?”  She looked ready to object, so he quickly added:  “Please?”

Belle nodded, and they moved into the living room.  Rumplestiltskin was very conscious of his actions as he chose the chair across from her when Belle sat on the couch, but he didn’t feel right sitting next to her.  Not right now. 

“Rumple, what is it?”

“There’s something I need to show you,” he made himself say miserably.  “All I ask is that you let me explain before you say anything.  After that, I’ll abide by whatever decision you make.”

 “You’re starting to worry me.”  Belle’s voice shook slightly, and he _wanted_ to hold her, but Rumplestiltskin was pretty sure he didn’t have the right to do that.

“I’m sorry.”  Slowly, he reached inside his jacket and withdrew the dagger, watched her eyes go wide with betrayal.  “I…I guess why I did it doesn’t really matter, but I dropped a bit of magic onto Excalibur before I gave it to Emma, so that instead of removing the darkness from anyone, the sword would channel back into me.  And now, I am the Dark One.  Again.”

Her eyes never moved from the dagger, and her whisper was harsh:  “Why?”

“Because I had nothing else.”  Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard, but he forced himself to go on.  Belle deserved the truth, even if it made her hate him.  “I…won’t lie and say that the power didn’t tempt me, because even with everything I learned about how to be brave without it, I was still only a broken old man with a little useful knowledge, someone with limited means to fight those who _do_ have power.  But I didn’t—and I know you won’t believe me on this, Belle—I didn’t do it for the power.  Or not even because I didn’t want to die again, didn’t want to go to the Underworld _again_.”

“Then why?”  Her gaze finally lifted to his face, and he could see the tears gathering in her blue eyes.

They matched the ones he was trying so hard to hold back, and Rumplestiltskin had to look away.  Now it was his turn to study the dagger, to look back at the damn weapon that _again_ symbolized that his soul was not his own.

 _She’ll never believe you,_ the ghostly voices of his predecessors whispered together.

_That doesn’t matter.  She deserves the truth._

“I didn’t expect Hook to sacrifice himself.  I thought he was too far gone.  I expected that Emma would have to take in all the darkness and sacrifice herself.  She’d already asked Regina to kill her…and I couldn’t do that to Henry.  He’s already lost too much.”  He let out a shaky breath.  “No one will believe it, now that I’m the Dark One once more.”  A humorless laugh.  “They probably wouldn’t have believed it of me to begin with.  But I hoped that I could redirect the darkness into myself so that no one had to die.  I know it better than anyone else, and it’ll be centuries before it can start to take me over again.”

There.  He’d been honest, told her the things he hadn’t even bothered to tell Emma.  _Emma,_ fresh off being the Dark One herself, should have called his bluff when he told her that this was the man he was.  Of all people, having spoken to him at length when he _wasn’t_ the Dark One, she should have known the difference.  But she’d been too consumed by her own loss to do anything other than buy the story he told her, and what did it matter, anyway?  As Rumplestiltskin had already pointed out, no one was going to believe his actual reasoning.

“Rumplestiltskin.”  She said his name and waited until he looked up at her, terrified to hear what came next.  “I believe you.”

“… _What?_ ”

“I said that I believe you.”  Belle still looked torn, but at least she wasn’t calling him a liar.  Maybe that could mean something, in the long run.  It was too soon to be sure.  Rumplestiltskin knew that his actions were breaking both of their hearts, but at least he was going to do it the right way.

 _There’s just too much broken trust_.

Belle should have listened to herself.  She’d been right.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Rumplestiltskin whispered.  “I—I meant to, but I just _lost_ myself.  I was so happy to see you, because I’d been certain you’d never come back, and having all that power meant _nothing_ to me without someone to love.  I suppose I’m still a coward who wanted one last taste.”

“Why were you so certain that I’d never come back?”

He snorted.  “Because I had nothing to offer you but my heart, and that wasn’t enough.”

Oh.  Damn.  He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“I was just scared, Rumple.”  Her whisper startled him, and now it was Belle’s turn to shrug helplessly.  “I _know_ that the darkness was the cause of the lies and the hurt, but it’s so hard to trust after something like that.  I saw how it affected Emma and Killian, but before you died, you’d always managed to be _you._ Until you weren’t, and even though I knew that it wasn’t all your fault, the idea of trusting you was terrifying.  No matter how much I wanted to.”

“I don’t know what to say to that,” he said softly, unconsciously echoing the words she’d said before he went off to fight Hook.

“You don’t have to say anything.”  Suddenly, Belle reached out for his hands, pushing the dagger into his lap as she did so.  Rumplestiltskin twitched hard; he didn’t know if it could control him, and he didn’t want to find out.  The dagger was different— _he_ was different—but he had no idea how much had changed.  “What I’m saying is that I didn’t leave because of you, Rumple.  I left because of me.  Because I was afraid.”

“You’re never afraid.  You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

“Being scared doesn’t mean you aren’t brave.”  Her smile was very watery.  “I think you know that.”

“I guess.”  Rumplestiltskin let out a shaky breath.  He was so lost, so utterly out of his depth. He’d expected her to be gone by now, and had _known_ that this time it would be forever.  “I—I’m sorry, Belle.  I should have told you before, so that you didn’t get dragged into this with me.  You expected a man.  Not the Dark One.”

“You’re still a man.”  She squeezed his hands.  “I was wrong when I told you at the well that you were the man I always hoped you would be—or at least wrong to imply that I wanted you to be a hero.  I don’t need a _hero_ , Rumple.  All I ever wanted was you to be honest with me.”

He stared.

Belle smiled.  “It’s not about the magic.  I love all of you, even the dark parts—so long as they’re _you_.  But I can’t do this again if there are going to be lies.  I love you.  I want to _be_ with you, if you can keep being honest with me.”

Rumplestiltskin’s chest was so tight that he could barely breathe.  “I can try.”  He shook his head after that, digging deep into himself and _looking_ at who he was.  His heart was still pure, mostly.  The darkness had already formed a film over that, but deep inside, the love he had for Belle was still strong and pure.  He _could_ be a better man, but only if he believed in himself.  “I can be honest with you,” he amended.  “No promises about everyone else.”

“I’m not going to stop pushing you.”  But there was a smile in her eyes that made his heart skip a beat.

“Sweetheart, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Suddenly, she was in his lap, in his arms.  The dagger clattered to the floor, but Rumplestiltskin didn’t care, because they were kissing like there was no tomorrow, and _Belle_ was still there.  She hadn’t left.  Her arms were wrapped around his neck and her hands tangled in his hair, and Rumplestiltskin held her tightly, feeling actual hope stirring within him for the first time since he’d been resurrected.  He could be different this time.  He could be the man he’d sworn to be on Bae’s grave.  This time, it wasn’t too late.

“I married the Dark One, you know.”  Belle smiled breathlessly, and Rumplestiltskin found himself marveling at the beautiful way she looked at him.  “I wasn’t pulling back.  I knew what I was getting into.  Just promise me that there isn’t something else.  Promise me that you’re not hiding the way the darkness is taking you over, or some other diabolical plan.”

“There’s nothing else.”  He looked her straight in the eyes.  “I promise, Belle.”

Her hand stroked his cheek, and Rumplestiltskin fought the urge to just melt into her touch.  “Then we’ll make this work.  Together.”

“Together.”  The word was a prayer, and when she kissed him again, Rumplestiltskin had to try not to cry.  Yet there _was_ something else that needed saying—not a secret, per say, because Emma had undoubtedly told her entire damn family already, but something Belle should know.

So, he pulled back reluctantly.

“You should know that Emma blackmailed me into opening the portal to the underworld by threatening to tell you that I was the Dark One.”  He smiled, wishing the expression didn’t feel so broken.  “She heard the dagger whispering to her, and she guessed.  That’s why she wanted me to meet her in the shop.”

“She…agreed not to tell me so that you’d help her?”  Belle bit her lip, and he just wanted to wrap his arms around her.  Yet again, the town’s heroes had shown Belle—who had _never_ done anything other than help them!—that they didn’t value her as a person, and if there was anything that made Rumplestiltskin want to indulge the darkness and destroy them all, it was that.

 _You can, you know_ , Nimue’s voice whispered, but he ignored her.  He had centuries of practice in doing so, after all.

“Yes.”  There was no gentle way to put that, but Rumplestiltskin did have to wonder why it never occurred to Emma that he might tell Belle himself, and her leverage would be gone.

“She just lost the man she loves.”  He could hear her compassion taking over; Belle always wanted to help people, even when they hurt her.  She peered at him curiously.  “You didn’t say yes when she asked?”

“She didn’t ask.”  He shrugged.  “They rarely do.”

Belle’s sigh said volumes about the way they’d treated her while he’d been gone.  “No, they don’t.”  Her eyes focused on the far wall for a moment.  “You don’t want them to know I know, do you?”

“It _would_ be interesting to see what else they feel they can blackmail me into.”

“Rumple.”

“What?” he shrugged.  “It’s strategy, sweetheart.  They—or at least Emma—think I have a weakness they can exploit.  Fine, let them think that.  I’ve already realized that they’re not going to view me any differently than they did before, even though they should now know who I am underneath the darkness.  So, let them assume the worst.  They’ll do it anyway.”

“I wish I could say that you’re wrong, but they didn’t want to help you when Emma kidnapped you, either,” she whispered, looking like that truly hurt her.

Once, he would have had to fight back the urge to hurt them all.  Now, the desire was merely a passing whim with no weight behind it.  _I am different.  Is it because I believe in myself, or is there something different this time?_

“I don’t care what they think of me.  You’re the only one who matters.”  Rumplestiltskin reached up to stroke her cheek, and Belle leaned into his touch.

“You’re a good man, Rumplestiltskin, even with the darkness.”  She smiled.  “And I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

As they kissed again, his own words echoed through his mind.  _Well, that blade... it chooses who it finds worthy. And it chooses its miracles._ Excalibur had chosen him, once.  Was the power, the dagger, a sign that the sword had done so again?

Rumplestiltskin had no way to know, and at the moment, he didn’t care.  He only cared that Belle was in his arms.  The truth hadn’t scared her away.  _Remember that_ , he told himself firmly.  This time, he would be honest.  For better or for worse, Rumplestiltskin would trust Belle…and she would trust him.  They could do this.

Together. 


End file.
